Absolution
by clintbartonismyaesthetic
Summary: Just a little oneshot about the aftermath of The Avengers (2012). I know, little late to the game...


**_I'm back! For anyone reading "Midnight Snack Run": It's not abandoned! I promise! I'm just really struggling with where to go with it and honestly, I think I'm gonna do some rewrites on it. The storyline will be the same, but I just think I can make it better, so be on the lookout for that! On another note: I am looking for a beta if anyone is interested! I just need some help with my writing process, etc, etc. I am still fairly new at this whole writing thing, so if anyone could help out, that'd be great! Back to my story here: this is just a little one-shot I thought up. I might consider turning it into a two-shot based on the feedback I get, so please leave a review! They mean a lot to me!_**

**_Disclaimer: I do not own marvel or any of it's affiliated characters._**

_His time was running out._

Clint stared out the window from where he was perched on a high bookshelf in the corner of his room. He had been there for hours, his training as a sniper helping him to remain motionless despite any discomfort. The rain that had been falling softly all day was quickly becoming a downpour. The few stray drops scattered across the large windows no longer reflected the city lights but became rivulets of running water, blurring the neon signs and streetlights beyond.

_It was only a matter of time before they turned on him. Everyone had in the past and these people would be no different. Well, maybe not Nat...but then again he could never be too sure. He learned early on not to trust anyone and he'd certainly done enough to make sure no one ever trusted him again. Besides, the first person he'd ever truly trusted was gone. And it was his fault._

As the sky faded to twilight, Clint's room darkened with it. Soon the faint glow from the "city that never sleeps" was the only source of light to illuminate the few belongings Clint had bothered to bring there.

_He would leave. Tomorrow probably. Or maybe tonight. It'd be easier that way. He wouldn't have to say goodbye to Nat. Not that she'd care anyway. This whole mess was his fault. So he'd leave before they could make him. He'd go to one of his personal safehouses, one that S.H.I.E.L.D. doesn't know about and he'd start over. Oh he wouldn't forget his past, no. He knew too well from experience that that wasn't possible, but he'd move on as much as possible. Maybe he'd change his appearance and join a work crew. At least that way he'd get to start making amends for his actions; clean some of the red from his ledger._

_Oh who was he kidding. His ledger would never be clean and he'd be a fool to even try. Coulson was the only one who had ever convinced him to even try, but now Coulson was gone and Clint was right back where he started: alone._

He shifted for the first time in hours and slowly made his way down the bookshelf. He grabbed his duffel and began to pack his few possessions, setting aside his bow and arrows, when the door began to open. He was immediately on guard as the knob turned and light from the hallway began to spill across the room. He grabbed his bow and had an arrow nocked and pointed at the intruder before the door was even a quarter of the way open. He relaxed once he realized that it was Natasha, though he remained wary.

She stepped into the dim room and shut the door behind her, once again leaving the glow of the city as the only light source. She moved on silent feet over to the bed where Clint stood. The two assassins stood side by side and took in the sight of the city, the rain having begun to lighten once more. When Natasha remained silent, Clint moved to continue packing, replacing his bow and arrow on the bed to be packed last. He had just finished putting the last of his clothes away when Natasha finally spoke.

"You're wrong."

After a moment of hesitation, Clint cleared his throat before asking, "What?" His voice was gravelly from disuse.

Natasha glanced at him before turning back to look out the window. "You're wrong."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that you need to stop throwing yourself a pity party and grow up. Bad shit happens. People die. But it's how we choose to deal with the shit that determines who we are. How do you think Coulson would react if he could see you moping around right now?"

Clint didn't respond, but he ceased his packing and glanced up at the fiery redhead.

"What happened to the man that convinced me to come with him all those years ago? The man who convinced me that I could somehow begin to make up for all the shit that _I_ caused, the red in _my_ ledger?" She paused for a moment to move closer to Clint and force him to look her in the eyes. "What happened was horrible. I will not deny that. But it doesn't matter. It doesn't matter because it wasn't your fault."

At this Natasha pulled Clint into a tight embrace which he quickly returned. As he leaned into her, she held him even closer.

"_It wasn't your fault."_


End file.
